Love Prevails—Three North Korean Love Stories
As Valentine’s Day gets closer, we’d like to share stories from some of North Korean refugees where love overcame challenges. Some have found love despite all odds, others found love after the hardships and achieving freedom. For many refugees, love was what drove them to risk their lives and kept them going as they resettled.
Minji—An Orphan’s Many Champions
Minji was left on the streets in North Korea at a very young age with no idea what her real name or birthday was. A kind man found her and made the selfless decision to risk his life to sneak her into China so a friend could take care of her. His friend nursed her back to health and the family reached out to LiNK to help Minji make the journey to South Korea. She has shown exponential growth since then, thanks to the care of many compassionate people.
Now in South Korea, Minji is thriving in a loving environment with her new foster parents and siblings who celebrate the progress she makes every day.
Jin Kyung—An Uncommon Cinderella Story
Escaping not just a stepmother but also the day-to-day hardships, Jin Kyung crossed the Tumen River into China where she was sold immediately for no more than 10,000 North Korean won and 2 packs of cigarettes. Later, she was sold a second time, but fortunately, to a kind, loving Chinese man and mother-in-law who helped coordinate her escape to South Korea. After resettlement, she eventually reunited with the man, who is now her husband. When Jin Kyung graduated from alternative school last year, her husband and baby boy came to celebrate the occasion.
It warms Jin Kyung’s heart to see the support of her husband in her career and their happy son.
Jung Hee—A Persistent Sincerity
Despite only a brief encounter with him at a retreat for North Koreans in the U.S., Jung Hee’s husband diligently and sincerely pursued her afterwards. Jung Hee found that she can depend on him during difficult times and he showed his affections after every text. She pretended to be bothered, while looking forward to his daily messages. Fearing he would lose her when he heard that her friends were arranging dates for her, he immediately booked a flight to see her and married her within a month with everyone’s approval.
For the couple, to be able to say “I love you” every morning and night is a blessing. Jung Hee believes that every person differs in the way they express their love, but being considerate and taking the first step to love will return that love tenfold.
The Most Dangerous Contraband in North Korea Isn’t a Weapon. It’s a Wish.
By: Jihyun Kang
Growing up in North Korea, Jihyun took inspiration from the smuggled South Korean dramas she watched to create her own unique clothing. After reaching freedom in 2010, she has continued to pursue her interests in fashion and culture as a catalyst for change. She runs several business ventures, practices fine art under the name “Da Gyeol,” and works with the Ministry of Unification as an advisor. She’s pursuing her Masters in Entrepreneurship, Dept. of Future Science & Technology Business, at Korea University.
I grew up in North Korea, and at fifteen, I encountered a Westerner for the first time at the top of Mount Paektu. He stood over 190 centimeters tall with a thick beard, wearing ripped jeans and a frayed T-shirt. In North Korea, worn-out clothing was a symbol of deprivation. Yet my father whispered, "He is wearing that for style." With that single remark, the worldview I had been taught, began, the first time, to crack. And I thought: I want to dress like that, too.
Fashion is more than clothing. It is the moment when individual desire moves faster than collective command. People follow taste before ideology, and express themselves through what they wear long before any political declaration.
A state can enforce a dress code, but it cannot manufacture desire. That is why North Korea's fear of blue jeans was not irrational—it was the regime recognizing, however dimly, that something it could not control was already growing.
Clayton Christensen, a professor at Harvard Business School, argued that transformation always begins at the margins—in forms so crude and insignificant that those in power dismiss them entirely. Christensen built his theory around corporations, but the logic applies to any system that holds a monopoly over its people, including a state. North Korea's regime was so focused on maintaining ideological control at the centre that it ignored what was happening at the bottom.
That bottom was the jangmadang—the spontaneous, bottom-up market ecosystem created by ordinary people to survive after the collapse of North Korea's state-led distribution system. When that system imploded during the Arduous March—a famine in the mid-1990s that killed hundreds of thousands—people built informal markets out of sheer necessity: not revolution, not ideology, but survival. Yet by 2018, a CSIS study found 436 officially recognized markets operating across the country. What began as a desperate improvisation had quietly become the infrastructure keeping North Koreans alive.
These markets did not merely sell food. They became conduits for Chinese clothing, USB drives loaded with South Korean dramas, and glimpses of a world no one had taught them existed. When a system ignores what people actually want, the market finds the gap.
The act of choosing—what to eat, what to wear, what to watch—may seem trivial. But a person who has tasted choice cannot fully return to obedience.
The jangmadang was the first place where North Koreans learned they could survive without the state. That desire did not stay underground—it surfaced. People began wearing jeans, dyeing their hair, and pulling on T-shirts printed with foreign letters. The regime could no longer ignore it. Authorities branded jeans and Western fashion as 'anti-socialist infiltrations' and deployed street patrols. Teenagers caught in these sweeps were sent to re-education camps; in severe cases, their names and home addresses were read aloud on state broadcasts as public shaming (Radio Free Asia).
In 2024, state-run Korean Central Television went so far as to blur the jeans worn by British TV presenter Alan Titchmarsh during a broadcast. The ruling party's official newspaper, the Rodong Sinmun, warned that a country could 'become vulnerable and eventually collapse like a damp wall' if it failed to preserve its own way of life (Newsweek, May 2021).
Regulations cannot extinguish human desire; they only raise the price of the forbidden. This is the inflection point Christensen identified: by the time an incumbent recognizes the threat, it is already too late.
To date, more than 34,000 North Koreans have resettled in South Korea (South Korean Ministry of Unification, 2024). At the start of each of those journeys, there was something like my pair of jeans—not ideology, but desire; not a declaration, but a taste; not revolution, but the market.
No government in history has ever successfully suppressed the human impulse to trade, to choose, to want more. Not the Soviet Union. Not Cuba. Not Mao's China. North Korea will not be the exception.
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Jihyun is a participant of the LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which serves to not only help North Korean defectors build confidence and skills in English, but develop their capacity as advocates for this issue. To that end, we partnered with select LELP “columnists” to write and polish personal essays through multiple rounds of external feedback and revision. Our goal is to have more North Koreans share their stories directly and lead efforts to change the narrative.
We believe the North Korean people can achieve their liberty in our lifetime.
Opportunities like LELP invest in the people building that future now. Help more North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue.
